


It's okay to not be okay

by spiderboyneedsahug



Series: Baby Avenger [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Domestic Avengers, Mama Natasha Romanov, Mama Spider, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Avengers, Protective Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Team as Family, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and everyone else loves him and wants to protect him, dad! tony, he's the baby Avenger, no beta we die like men, the entire team has adopted Peter, this is just self-indulgent team as family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 10:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderboyneedsahug/pseuds/spiderboyneedsahug
Summary: Peter knows he can't save everyone. Nobody can.He just wasn't expecting to face that reality so soon.





	It's okay to not be okay

**Author's Note:**

> I'm spamming so hard right now lmao. This is literally me posting drafts as fast as I can for no reason? Happy Thursday, I guess!

When Peter gets into the compound, he makes sure to enter quietly. It took a while for him to swing up to the facility, and even longer to sprint the distance when there were no buildings to swing off of. But he’s here now. FRIDAY doesn’t welcome him back — probably because he came in through the window, not the door, but it doesn’t matter anyways. He doesn’t want the attention.

It takes him all of a few seconds to touch down on the floor of the Avengers’ family room, still wearing his suit, mask and all. The room is completely empty; something for which Peter is infinitely grateful. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to manage interaction right about now. He’s so tired, even as he drags himself into the recently-dubbed ‘comfort corner’ that Clint and Steve built a while back. It’s pretty much just a glorified blanket fort, tall and maybe able to fit three people in it. The walls are constructed of unused bean bags while the floor is laden with cushions, designed to be comfortable and feel safe. It was Sam’s idea to make the fort for when someone in the group was feeling particularly overwhelmed and wanted some ‘alone time’ without the isolation, and it’s been pretty successful so far. Peter crawls under the fort and pulls his knees up to his chest.

 

He didn’t mean for it to happen. He had just been so busy, distracted with the  criminals he was fighting and trying to evacuate people at the same time. But he moved, and by the time he heard the gunshot the person behind him was on the floor, bleeding far too much to survive. Peter takes a shuddering breath, and curls up a little tighter. Nobody has ever died while he was on patrol. He prided himself on being able to save everyone he could at the time. He couldn’t do even that, apparently. The fort does a good job muting out his overstimulated senses, but it makes him so vulnerable and small and it keeps him on the verge of tears with every shaky inhale. Peter lays down and curls into the smallest ball possible, facing away from the fort’s entrance. A few minutes drag by as he tries to force down the panic churning in his gut. Even with his eyes closed, it surprises him when the amount of light coming through dims into nothing. He jolts.

“Karen?”

_ ‘You are exhibiting signs of sensory overload. Most sources say to go somewhere dark and quiet to relieve the symptoms. I dimmed the suit’s eye lenses to restrict the amount of sensory input you are experiencing.’ _

“O-oh. Thank you.”

_ ‘You’re welcome, Peter.’ _

He closes his eyes again, and tries to focus on his heartbeat and breathing. He ignores any echoes of the gunshot, or the screams, or anything that isn’t the steady, if a little shaky, rhythm of his breaths. He doesn’t know why he came up to the compound instead of going home to May. Probably because at the compound, if he tells someone what’s wrong they’re much more likely to understand. May couldn’t understand how scary it is to be responsible for someone dying.

A few minutes later, he hears footsteps approaching the room. It’s probably the other Avengers coming back from whatever they’ve been doing. Peter has half a mind to get up and run somewhere else, but at the same time he is  _ really _ comfortable and he just wants to wait until he can talk to Tony about it. He doesn’t have anything against the other Avengers; hell, he considers them as a crazy, extended family, but Tony is the person he goes to when bad things happen. Tony understands what it’s like to be at the centre of things when everything goes wrong. The footsteps are closer now, maybe at the threshold of the room. The amiable chatter dies down, so he assumes they’ve spotted him. He’s proven right when he feels two sets of footsteps approaching him, one light and stealthy, the other heavy and audible. Natasha and Sam, then. Peter knows why those two are approaching him: Second to Tony, he speaks to Natasha the most. It’s because of how understanding she is, and how protective she is of him. Then it’s Sam, because he basically became an honorary Uncle after the first time he saved Peter’s ass in a fight.

Peter cracks an eye open when he feels someone coming into the fort. They’re heavy, and a little clumsy-footed, so he can tell it’s Sam. He doesn’t turn to face the older man though. He just adjusts the hold he has on his knees and wiggles to get more comfortable. A few vibrations tell him that Sam is sitting down now, knees maybe about 20 centimeters away from his spine.

“Peter. What’s wrong?” He doesn’t want to tell them. Maybe if he just lets it go and doesn’t tell anyone, it’ll just go away. Warm hands gently pry off his mask. He doesn’t try to pull away, or fight back, because there’s no energy left in him to resist anything anymore. His eyes are definitely puffy from the crying, if Sam’s little intake of breath is anything to go by.

“What happened?” He can’t bring himself to respond. There’s too much running through his head, and none of the words want to leave his mouth, so he just tries to muffle a small cry and clutches at his arms. Over his trembling, he can just feel Natasha’s approaching footsteps. Then there’s a slender, feminine hand on his shoulder and some soothing Russian words filling the fort, and while he doesn’t know what it means it still makes the tears come faster. He still can’t speak, like his mouth has been sealed shut against his will, and he can’t stop  _ thinking _ about it-!

He doesn’t know how long he spends like this, crying into his chest and trembling, but other people are in the fort. There’s a concerned, smooth voice that sounds a lot like Clint, asking Peter if he wants to talk about it. He doesn’t respond. A low, baritone voice telling him that they will wait until he feels okay to open up — Thor. He appreciates the gesture, but he can’t bear the thought of acknowledging that his mistake killed a man. Steve’s gentle voice. Wanda rearranging his pillows with her powers. Vision contacting Tony calmly, but not without what sounds like concern in there somewhere. A voice that has to belong to Rhodey towards the back of the room, asking if he’s okay. He’s not okay. He isn’t. Peter clamps his hands over his ears, because while he knows the Avengers all mean well, he’s overwhelmed and his senses aren’t having any of it. It’s excruciating.

 

Then it all stops. The noise, the people near him. It all goes away. Someone is sat beside him, but they’re not making any moves to get him opening up.

And there’s one hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles there.  _ Tony _ . Something feather-light drapes over him, and even before he opens his eyes he knows it’s a blanket. Peter drags himself upright, careful to keep the blanket on his shoulders, and meets Tony’s eyes. The warmth, compassion and well-veiled concern there is shocking enough for him to stare back down at his knees.

Tony gently lifts his chin and stares Peter in the eyes appraisingly, like a parent would their child.

 

He breaks.

 

Peter flings himself into Tony’s waiting arms as he cries, breaths awkwardly hitching as he tries to find a balance between expressing his pain and breathing. It never comes, and he gasps like an idiot between each sob. He should be embarrassed about the tears and other gross things he’s wiping down Tony’s probably expensive shirt, but he can’t find it in himself to be so. He just cares about how much he needed to break down. It’s exhausting. Peter keeps crying until he’s maybe a few seconds away from passing out, and even then Tony is holding him. He’d forgotten what having a father figure is like.

He can hear quiet words of comfort coming from Tony, spoken soothingly and softly, but he’s so,  _ so _ tired now, and consciousness is slipping away from him faster than he cares to fight against. Besides, he’s safe. He can feel Tony adjusting him, wriggling a pillow under his head. He’s grateful.

He falls asleep surrounded by the overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this loving team-family dysfunctional mess! I sure did!
> 
> Send in prompts and fic ideas to me through my Tumblr on spiderboyneedsahug! I don't bite <3


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